


The Bodyguard.

by Raynebow_of_the_Rising_Sun



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raynebow_of_the_Rising_Sun/pseuds/Raynebow_of_the_Rising_Sun
Summary: Uberfan Lori Mavis has the opportunity of a lifetime thrust upon her when her OTP celebrity crush Ben Johnson hires her as his bodyguard just to piss off his (onscreen and off) wife.





	1. Chapter 1

He's like a male Molly Ringwald.

That was my impression of Ben Johnson when the first season of my favorite new television show had ended. In his rookie year as a celebrity his character had come on the show as slightly odd and geeky but still charming and rather attractive in an unusual way that you could spend hours pondering without ever being able to explain the how or why of.

The next year he finished the season by winning the heart of the beautiful Esmeralda Crain, the central "beautiful young focal character" of the ensemble driven primetime drama that I watch with an almost religious fervor. 

The show, "Finding Me" is an hour every week from June to September of pure unadulterated drama about a dozen just out of college, young people finding their way in the world. It's shot like a 'reality' show, but it's fully scripted and jam packed with amazingly talented actors and actresses. I can't get enough of it. 

By season three I was blogging about it on three different social media websites, spending every second of my free time obsessing over the show. In truth, I spent my unfree time obsessing quietly while I check bags and wave a metal detector wand around people at my local airport. 

Season 7 has just wrapped up and somewhere along the way, I fell head over heels for the character Miles Adams. I tuned in every week after season three just to see Miles. The other 10 people on the show were great, but Miles and Esmeralda stole the show in season three… and for me, in my obsessive frenzy, they became the pair I loved the absolute most. They were perfect together. 

The actors who played them - Ben Johnson and Emmy Star (no, that's really her birth name, I googled her) were superb. By season 4 they were each making four times more money per episode than anyone else in the cast. 

Of course, when they flew to vegas during the season four finale and got married during the airing of Miles and Esmeralda's own vegas elopement the internet exploded with the impact of an atom bomb. 

Some people were flat out convinced that it had been a sham, a publicity stunt, a way to make the show more money so that it could afford Season five's pay raises for the entire cast, including doubling Ben and Emmy's already impressive salaries. 

I never believed that. No way. Ben and Emmy, or Bemmy as I call them, have waaaay too much chemistry, onscreen and off, to be faking it. No, the show making more money was a natural consequence of having the most talented young cast ever assembled in one show. Period. End of discussion. Fin. I will not hear another word about it.

Of course, in every fandom you find trolls… With six couples, a lot of cross-relationship sexual tension, and a highly diverse cast, season seven Finding Me's social media following is a breeding ground for fandom trolls. We real fans call them "antis." They whine endlessly about the show but for some reason wont just stop watching it. I do not get those people. They annoy me.

So there I was, in my cheap polyester uniform with my shiney little badge and clunky black patton leather steel-toed boots, daydreaming about Miles' gorgeous, fiery, brown-eyed smoulder while I waved through a pretty blond that towered over me by a good six inches thinking that Miles's eyes have the most intense quality about them. 

Miles can literally boil freezing water with a single stare. I'm not sure at exactly what point he went from "geeky" to "omfg I totally would trade my soul for just one night with him" but I think it might have been the season two smouldering hot ten second stare down while stalking toward Esmeralda with pure unfiltered, unbridaled lust rippling off of him like heat waves off desert sand. 

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was the moment.

Just the thought of that moment is enough to make me blush as I blink away the image. I glance up at the guy who'd just set off the metal detector as I pass the wand across his chest. I freeze. My brain crashes against my skull and I stand there gaping like a fish out of water as Miles Adams stares back at me in annoyance. 

I blink. 

No, not Miles Adams. 

Ben Johnson. 

Ben "omfg" Johnson is scowling at me. In the flesh. At MY airport! In Real Life!

I watched in fascination as the annoyed look melted off his face and alarm flashed ahead of concern that gave way to amusement and finally turned to exasperation.

He rolled his eyes and said, "Breathe." half mockingly - half coaxingly with a slight grin on his lips.

In Dolby Digital his voice caresses you like tattered silk, in real life, it's more like a cat's tongue. 

His eyes widen and he half reaches for me. "No, really, you need to breathe."

Oh, god. His voice... it's so beautiful! Like angels had crafted it from granite and satin, drizzled it with dark chocolate and sprinkled it with shards of broken glass.

"Shit!" He hissed as his face, that incredibly expressive face of his, swam before my eyes. 

I blinked and found myself looking up into his frowning face.

"Dear god, not again." Came an annoyed female voice. "They're never going to stop doing that if you keep catching them."

Ben turned a quick scowl toward someone above my head then looked back and asked me, "Are you alright?"

That's when three things hit me at once. 

One, I'm cradled in his arms, across his lap as he kneels down in front of the metal detectors. 

Two, his eyes are prismatic, a totally different shade, ranging from black to amber-yellow depending on how the light hits them. 

Three, I'm making a total ass of myself by continuing to stare at him - dumbstruck and drooling.

Reality set in with the suddenness and force of a high speed mid-air collision.

I apologized profusely as I fought my way through 10 tons of humiliation and panic to get to my feet. I could have sworn that my mortification could not have been more complete… until I chanced a glance upward and spotted a trickle of blood oozing down his chin. 

I have never wanted to cry so badly in my life. 

Without another word I took off at a dead run for the nearest ladies room where I immediately screamed "Fuck!" at the top of my lungs. That didn't help much so I did it a few more times before I began ugly-crying my eyes out.

It took me a good hour to get control of myself enough to clock out amidst pitying glances and some snickering from my fellow security guards. I kept my eyes straight ahead as I walked briskly out to my car. 

I'd been at Bluegrass for five years. I'd seen celebrities before. Admittedly, not many… but some! Johnny Depp once came through my line! I was calm, cool and professional. No sweat. Under no circumstances have I ever lost my shit over anything or anyone like I did with Ben Johnson. 

Not even close.

I called my supervisor, Harvey, as soon as I got home and talked him into arranging two weeks worth of my accrued vacation for the immediate future. It was too easy. He had obviously been appraised of my blunder. I hung up and cried myself to sleep at four o'clock in the afternoon. 

The next two weeks were more of the same. 

Log in to check my blogs, weep as soon as I see a picture of him, log out and cry myself to sleep. 

Wake up, go pee, see myself in the mirror and burst into tears. 

Pull a burrito out of the microwave, set it on a paper plate, burst into tears. 

About midway through the second week I got rip roaring drunk... at home… alone… with a half gallon tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a half gallon bottle of Smirnoff. 

The combo tasted terrible when it made an encore appearance later on.

As I lay there next to the toilet, in the fetal position, my hair wet from both sweat and vomit, I pondered my life and it's recent trials and tribulations.

The most comforting thought came to me as the room spun like a drunken tilt-a-whirl. It doesn't actually matter what happened when Ben Johnson unexpectedly jumped out of my fantacy and into my reality… I'd never see him again. 

Another highly comforting thought was that my co-workers will surely have moved back to their favorite gossip topic, Shirleen Dabney's love life, and forgotten all about me fainting and then splitting the lip of my favorite celebrity by now. 

Surely. 

It's not like they're blogging about it. 

Shirleen's love life is way more interesting than my run in with a celebrity. Shirleen is a tall, leggy, redhead with surgically enhanced ta tas and an ass like a fetishist porn star. She's been picked up and dropped off to work by twelve different men in the three months she's been at Bluegrass. Twelve! Different! Men! That works out to one a week. The security room is abuzz with gossip about her every second that she's not in it… and dead silent when she is.

With two more Shir-boys to gossip about, no doubt my little incedent with a t.v. star is long forgotten. 

I walked into the break room to clock in amidst the sounds of a dozen people breathing lightly.

Not good.

It's only quiet in this room when the subject of conjecture walks in. 

I squared my shoulders and crossed to the time clock. I could feel their eyes on my back. The sensation caused my skin to crawl.

Ok, so apparently having mousey little Lori Mavis faint into a t.v. star's arms and then give him a bloody lip is more gossip-worthy than I imagined it would be. At least I only had to face my coworkers, and not Ben Johnson.

Right? 

_Right?_

I wish… but no, just after the most uncomfortable lunchbreak of my life, as I was checking people through my line, a mob of screaming, shoving people burst into the lobby. For a moment I was too afraid- that Bluegrass Regional was about to hit the national headlines- to do more than look around at my fellow security agents for guidance. 

When no explosions boomed and no shots rang out after a moment, three of us headed toward the fray which had stopped about halfway between the ticket counter and the metal detectors. My shoulder mounted walky-talky has a nifty bullhorn function which I employed while shoving my way through the crowd, toward it's center.

"BREAK IT UP!" My voice boomed over the noise. "Back off or we will be forced to employ pepper spray to disperse this crowd!"

That settled them down a bit.

It was then that the tight knot of people at the epicenter of the riot loosened enough to let me see what all of the fuss was about.

Ben Johnson. 

_Of course_ I thought bitterly. _Of course Ben Johnson picked my first day back after the incedent to come back here._

I probably wouldn't believe in God if He didn't fuck with me so hard and so often.

"Fuck you, Harvey." I curse my boss under my breath. 

He could have had Bemmy's outbound flight looked up and arranged for me to not be here. But no, I got stuck amidst a mob of slavering fans, pepper spray in one hand, shoulder mic in the other, standing five feet from my latest humiliation with absolutely no idea that I'd ever see him again.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I say over the bullhorn function. "Ben Johnson and Emmy Star will be happy to take a picture with you if you'll just group up over by the ticket counter. They are in quite a hurry though, their flight is being held for them, so please hurry. I'll take the photo myself and post it on the airport's site so you can all get a copy."

The offer of a picture did way more to disperse the crowd than the threat of pepper spray. In under ten seconds there were no longer any mob members standing between Bemmy and myself. 

That's when I noticed that Ben Johnson, my most ardent celebrity crush, was clearly struggling with the onset of a panic attack. His wife, Emmy Star sneered at him impatiently, her eyes hidden behind a pair of shades that probably cost more than my car.

"Oh, just get on with it. Puke, pass out, piss yourself… whatever!" Emmy growled just loud enough for me to hear. "Just hurry up with it, Franz isn't going to hold my appointment if your panicky baby-ass makes me miss this flight."

I watched as a flood of red stained his pale cheeks while he gulped in air like a drowning man. 

It occured to me then that Ben Johnson, my hunky fantasy fuckboy, was not only a real, live person, but a real, live, human being with at least one real, live personal issue that seemingly causes him a pretty good dose of real, live humiliation at times... and how aweful it must be to be married to someone who reacted to your suffering as callously as Emmy Star had.

At that thought I turned my eyes to Emmy Star. 

She was scowling at Ben as if he were some sort of vermin who'd dared to cross her path. "Get it together." She jerked her shades off and plastered on a smile that was sweet enough to give a bee diabetes. "The mindless masses await." She said and sailed past me toward the waiting throng.

I stepped up to Ben cautiously, "Mr. Johnson, if you can just pretend everything is fine for one picture, I'll make sure you have a nice quiet spot away from everyone to wait for your flight in." I said low enough to keep my voice from carrying.

His eyes fell on me and widened even more. "You!" He rasped.

My face went as hot as a frying pan. I grimaced and nodded. "Me."

I don't know if it was the shock of running into me or my promise to remove him from this situation that helped him pull himself together but he did so with remarkable speed for one so far gone.

"Come on, one picture and then you never have to see any of us again." I assured him once he'd caught his breath and gestured toward where his wife was signing autographs, that saccarin smile still painted on her face, while everyone waited for Ben Johnson, t.v. star, to join them.

"Thank you." He said, looking me in the eye with such an intensity that I almost forgot for a moment that I had already made quite enough of an ass of myself around him.

I nodded, my tongue far too swollen and thick all of a sudden to be able to speak. 

The picture took less than a minute and I took the famous couple to the security lounge to finish waiting for their flight.

On the way there Emmy Star dropped her sweet act and scowled at her husband. "If you'd let me hire a few bodyguards, like the ones Bey has, this shit wouldn't keep happening."

"Yeah," he snorted. "A few 400 pound gorillas with guns following me around 24/7 is really going to help me."

"You'll get used to them." She said, sending him a look acidic enough to melt steel. "Everybody who's anybody has a security team."

"We don't need one." he shrugged. 

"That's not the point." Emmy Star hissed toward her husband.

I gotta give the guy credit, he didnt even seem close to losing his cool despite the bitchiness radiating from her.

"No, the point," he said with practiced patience, "is that you want to live the Hollywood lifestyle."

"Which we could, if you'd let us." She pouted.

"I'm happy where I am." He shrugged.

"The show wont last forever." She changed her tone to one attempting to be coaxing. "Another few years tops… We need to expand our resumès."

It was fascinating to watch two professional actors lowkey argue. Each attempting to convince the other that what they're saying makes the most sense… neither giving in to their temper, both clearly wanting to.

"As I've told you before, I'm not interested in that lifestyle or anything that comes with it." He frowned so deeply I could hear it in his voice. "Especially the need for a security team."

We reached the breakroom then and they only remembered I was behind them as I stepped forward and keyed in my code to unlock the door. I stepped inside to send Myrna and Lloyd, the room's only occupants, back to work while the pair settled in for their wait.

"The vending machines accept plastic, the restroom is over there," I pointed toward a far corner, "If you'll tell me your flight number I'll make sure you don't miss it… the announcements don't sound in here."

Ben nodded and gave me the number. I left them alone but my mind kept drifting back to the celebrity couple.

_He must really love her,_ I thought as I wand scanned an enormous woman in a voluminous flowered mumu, _to put up with all that bitchiness... not to mention her total lack of sympathy for his anxiety._

"Clear." I said and waved the woman through. 

I sighed and tried to shake away the memory of Emmy Star's earlier rudeness toward Ben Johnson. I feel so bad for him. I mean really, really feel bad for him. He deserves better. He deserves someone who loves him back. Emmy clearly doesn't.

I heard their flight announced and waved Myrna over to fill in for me while I fetched Ben and Emmy. 

"Fine." Ben said through clenched teeth as I opened the door. "One."

Emmy made a sound of delight reminiscent of a hog squeal and threw her arms around her husband's neck, planting a loud smacking kiss along his slightly turned away jawline.

_That's interesting._ I thought as I watched Ben continue to turn away from his wife's attempts to kiss him. _Pretty sad, too._

"On one condition." He said, disentangling himself from her ferrari red accented claws.

Emmy Star's entire demeanor changed then, from clinging vine to ice queen in .001 seconds. 

"You bastard." She hissed and cracked him upside the face with her open hand, smearing the blood red lipstick she'd only just put there.

Without acknowledging having just been slapped he continued, "I am in charge of hiring and firing."

The venom drained from her eyes, replaced with honey. She smiled sweetly. "Not Ricky, whoever you hire has to be qualified." 

His eyes narrowed at her for a moment, "Ok, not Ricky."

"Excuse me," I spoke up as Emmy threw her arms around Ben's neck again. "Your flight is boarding."

Emmy jumped back like I'd tazed her. Ben turned his head toward me, frowning briefly before his whole face lit up like a noon sky.

"Her." He said, not even bothering to conceal his grin.

_Huh?_

"She isn't qualified." Emmy said, a frown marring her otherwise perfect face.

"Yeah, I'm not qualified for…" _What?_ I wondered as Ben Johnson, grinning broadly, stepped toward me, pointing at my chest.

"She's a security guard." He said triumphantly - That may be true but I'm beginning to feel like a steak trapped between two hungry pitbulls. "At an airport! She's had training."

Two weeks worth, to be precise.

Emmy sneered in my general direction. "She's practically a midget, nobody would hire her as a bodyguard."

My hands curl into fists.

"Besides, with an ass that wide she'd barely fit in a limo with us."

I start to shake. How dare that spoiled, pompous…

"Ok, then. No bodyguards." He shrugged and made for the door, still grinning.

"How about…" Emmy cut in before he reached for the doorknob. "You hire the first one, and I'll hire the second one?"

He stopped, winked at me, and turned back toward the blond bombshell that just called me short and fat. "Only if I'm in charge of the first one. Hiring, firing, duties, schedule… all of it."

"Same for me and the second one." She said and swept past us both and out the door.

"So, uhh…" He cleared his throat and looked me squarely in the eyes. "How about it? Wanna be my bodyguard for however long it takes to convince her that we don't need a bodyguard?"

Let's see… I've been working here for five years. I make enough money to get me by. I like my hours, and my job is easy. 

I love blogging about my 'OTP' (one true pair) in my spare time... and now I'm being offered a job as a fly on the wall of their lives.

"I'll double whatever you make here." He coaxed.

On the one hand I have security, safety, dental insurance… 

On the other hand I'd have days, weeks or months of being inside Bemmy's world.

"Why me?" I croaked around the lump in my throat.

"We've got history." He said solemnly enough to make me wonder what in the hell he was talking about. "We've both been humiliated in front of God and everybody, including each other."

He must have seen my face turning scarlet again because he reached out and actually touseled my hair as if I were a child. "Besides, something about you really pisses her off." He said and didn't quite manage not to chuckle about it. "The only woman she's ever put down that hard was the girl that beat her out for the Miss California crown, in high school. She's still furious about that.… having you around will certainly be interesting."

"Yeah… No, thanks." I said regretfully. "I'll have to pass on having a job that's entire description is to piss off a bitchy wife."

I only caught what I said after I said it, but he caught it as I said it. I could tell by how his eyes bugged out.

"I mean…" _Exactly what I said, unfortunately_ "uhh… I'm sorry... for insulting your wife."

"What do you make here? Fourty grand a year? I'll triple it. Please, just say yes." 

I don't get it... nor do I make anywhere near 40 grand a year… why am I suddenly being offered every uberfan's dream job? 

_God, is that you? Is this some kind of joke?_

"$120,000?" My mind refuses to grasp the concept.

"Plus benefits." He coaxes.

Ok, now, shit just got real... five times my salary, plus benefits? I only need to know one more thing…

"Dental?"

"Absolutely." He grins, showing off the whitest, most beautiful natural smile on t.v.

"Where do I sign up?"

He grinned and pulled out his wallet... As I suspected, it was brimming with plastic... rifling through the cards he plucked out a paper card and handed it to me. "I'll be finished in the gym by seven a.m. call me in the morning, we'll set it up."

With that he was gone, leaving me once again gaping like a fish. I glanced down at the card. It was standard white with black ink, nothing fancy, with only his name and two telephone numbers on it. One number had 'home' before it and the other had 'cell.'

"Holy shit!" I said, stumbling over on shaking knees to flop down on the imitation leather sofa. "Holy fucking shit!"

I can't believe this!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lori prepares for her new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still very raw, I'm sure there is plenty of clunky language and a lot of typos yet to be corrected, please bear with me as the story pours out too fast for me to write and edit each chapter as it comes.

The next morning came about four or five centuries later, and promptly at 7:05 I dialed the cell number on the card given to me the day before by Ben Johnson, uberhunk.

"I told you, I'll be up in a fucking minute." Came his signature rasp over the line.

"Uhm, Mr. Johnson?" I said, hessitantly.

"You're not my wife!" He sounded abashed and happy at the same time.

"Nope." I could almost feel his grin from 900 miles away. "I'm your Bodyguard."

"Aha, that explains how you got my number!" He said and I swear I could hear his smile over the phone.

"Yessir." I say, trying to sound professional.

"So, uh… Miss… uh…" 

"Mavis." I tell him, only just realizing that I hadn't already given him my name. "Lori Mavis."

"Really?" He sounded surprised. 

"Yessir." I nod unnecessarily. "You can call me whatever you're comfortable with."

"Wonderful," he said in a way that made me question his sincerity… until he asked, "So, tell me, Sunshine, what's it going to take to get you to Manhattan in under a week?"

_A miracle._

"Well, sir," I ignore the Sunshine and try my best to stay professional. "I'm afraid I'll need a moving service… and somewhere to move to."

"Done and Done." He said dismissively. "You'll get one of the empty apartments in my building, the one next to Ricky is really nice… they just finished the renovation last week."

I wanted to ask about this Ricky, and I probably should have, but the apartment only solved half my problem. "And a moving service." I prompted. "I have no savings."

"Not a problem, I'll cover it." He said as if his attention was drifting. "I reserved your flight for Friday… Bluegrass Regional to JFK... Flight 46 from Terminal 6 at 10 a.m."

"Friday? It's already Tuesday!" I don't want to argue but 3 days is NOT a week.

"Yep. I'll make sure the movers are done there by Thursday evening. Do you have a preferred hotel for Thursday night, or will the Marriott do?" 

I jerk the phone away from my head and stare at it before hitting the speaker button. "The Marriott will do."

"Alright, it's all taken care of, you can check in anytime after noon on Thursday. Pick up the keycard at the front desk. The reservation is in your name."

"Uhm," I don't know what to say. On the one hand it rankles to have someone else take so much control over my time and my life… on the other hand - damn he works fast! I must admit, I'm slightly impressed.

"Thank me later, I have a beautiful woman glaring at me while she threatens to dump my breakfast in the garbage disposal, gotta go!" He hung up as the sound of smooching began to fill my silent livingroom.

Well, that was… unexpected. Not that I'd actually known what to expect, but that certainly hadn't been it.

I called Harvey. He wasn't happy, to say the least. "Three days? You give me a three day notice after five years of faithful employment?"

"Technically," I correct him automatically, "it's two day's notice, since my flight is early Friday."

"Damn it, Mavis! You can't do this to me! I can't replace you in 48 hours!" He barked, but there was a lot of whine in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Harv. I wish I had two weeks to give you, but my new boss insists that I be in New York on Friday."

It took another ten minutes of platitudes and excuses before I was able to hang up with any hope of getting my job back once this foolishness is done.

Well, hot new job or not, I need to get a move on to my current job, so I head for the shower and my second to last day at Bluegrass Regional Airport.

After the cold shoulder I recieved yesterday, today's warm welcome stung a little. Everybody in the security staff made sure to come and offer me congratulations on my "big time job" in the big apple. A few asked me to put in a good word for them in New York. As if I could actually help get them to New York with a few kind words. I'm not Glenda, Good Witch of the North, ya know?

The day went by quickly, thankfully, with all the asides taking up a good portion of my time.

I was just heading to my car when my cell rang. I don't know that area code or number so I decline the call.

Ten seconds later my phone rings again, same number. I answer. "Yeah?"

"Where in the name of Satan's Itchy Ballsack are you?"

"Mr. Johnson?" I can't keep my incredulity out of my voice.

"The movers have been sitting outside your house for three hours, they're threatening to mutiny."

"How did the movers find my house?" I hadn't given him my address.

"I googled you." He said, almost accusingly. "You'd have saved me an hour if you'd have mentioned that you spell your name 'L-O-R-I' instead of 'L-A-U-R-I-E.'

"What?" I'm so confused by this line of talk that I find myself staring at the key in my hand rather than using it to let myself into my car. To my knowledge, nobody has ever googled me before. That Ben Johnson should be the first seemed too surreal to be reality... I google celebrities, they don't google me.

"So, why aren't you at home, directing the movers?"

"I had to work…" I said lamely.

"Work?" He sounded like he wasn't familiar with the concept.

"You know, the Airport… where we met…"

"I know the Airport, but why are you still working there?"

"Because, unlike with t.v. and movie villains, there is no '1 800 henchman' like number to call for replacement airport security guards."

He remained silent for a moment before asking earnestly, "Am I moving too fast for you?"

"No." I lied. "But I need a job to come back to… after…"

"Ah, I see." Was all he had to say about that. "Alright, well, get home and put the moving men to work. I'll tell them you're on your way."

"Ok." I said even as the call was disconnected.

If a five minute phone call with him can leave me feeling like I've just survived a tornado, I don't even want to ponder what working for Ben Johnson is going to be like. 

I drive to the outskirts of town and find an 18-wheeler blocking not just my driveway but half my street as well. I have to park two houses down and hoof it the rest of the way to my tiny little rental.

"Lori Mavis?" A burly but squat guy with a clipboard approached me as I entered my yard.

"Yes?" 

"If you'll just sign these releases, we'll get straight to work." He said, a shark-toothed grin on his broad face.

I scanned the pages and signed them as three other dudes came to watch, obviously itching to get to work.

I handed back the clipboard and pen then stared at the short guy expectantly.

"If you'll unlock the door…"

"Oh, right." I felt a blush coming on so I hurried to do as asked.

As soon as the door was opened, four burly guys brushed past me, two of them holding thick stacks of unassembled packing boxes. "Cj, Julio, you take the kitchen. Ralph, you're with me." The squat guy commanded. "Mark your boxes boys, he bought the platinum service." Frowning he turned to the guy with empty hands. "Julio, you forgot the bubble wrap. Hustle boys! We've got nineteen hours to be on the road if we want that fat bonus!"

_Oh, God. He's paying extra for speed._ I think to myself, feeling both greatful for the help and annoyed to be so beholden to my new employer.

I don't know how much he promised them, but '4 Guys Moving and Hauling Service' went so far as to hand wash and dry my left over supper dishes so they could complete my kitchen removal in a remarkably short period of time.

In three hours time they had my entire kitchen, livingroom, and bathroom packed and loaded on their truck. If I'd been here when they showed up, I'm willing to bet they'd be on their way to New York by now.

"We'll be here at 8 a.m." the apparent leader informed me. "For everything else in the house."

I nodded mutely then pulled out my cell and called New York.

"So, about those movers…" I began as soon as he picked up. 

"Lori?" He sounded groggy. 

I checked the time, 8:30p.m. odd, he shouldn't be in bed at this hour.

"Yeah, Lori." I say, then get back to the important part. "The movers will be here at 8 a.m. for the rest of my stuff."

"Ok, good." He says real quietly… like he's trying to not wake someone up.

"Good?" I ask. "My hotel reservation is for the day after tomorrow…"

"Yeah? And?"

"Where am I supposed to sleep tomorrow night?"

"Fuck." He whispered. "Alright, give me ten, I'll call you back."

He hung up then and I couldn't help smiling a little. He really is just as human and fallable as me. I forget to breathe, he forgets about my needing to sleep… these are pretty similar if you think about it. Ok, maybe not, but it's Ben-freaking-Johnson, I can draw thin paralels if I want to.

"Alright, I changed the reservation to tomorrow and Thursday." He said without preamble when I answered the phone eight minutes later. "I spoke to Harvey Nash at Bluegrass after we spoke a few hours ago… you have tomorrow off. Use it wisely." I'm assuming that he'd left his sleeping wife and went to another room because he hadn't whispered a bit of that.

"Uh… alright, thank you." I said and waited for the line to go dead.

"Lori?" He said after an awkward pause.

"Yes?" 

"There's something I need to discuss with you, before you get here Friday."

"Ok?" I frowned at the phone. "Is now a bad time?"

"Sort of." He said, his voice resigned. "Remind me that we need to talk when I pick you up at JFK."

"You're picking me up?" It never even occured to me to hide my surprise.

"I kind of have to." He said evasively. "I'll tell you all about it when I see you."

"That sounds ominous." I muse into the now dead line. 

I hate mysteries. This one kept me awake - tossing and turning til two a.m.

I awoke to the insistent buzzing of my doorbell. Jumping out of bed I hurried to let the movers in.

They were far too chipper for my pre-coffee disposition so I retreated to the kitchen where I proceeded to cuss a blue streak at finding my coffee pot gone along with everything else in the kitchen. "Fucking men." I grumble, wanting to cry. "Who the fuck packs away the coffee two days too soon?"

I shuffle back to my room and get dressed. "I'm going out for coffee. Just… do whatever it is that you do." I say, stomping past the ringleader of the coffee bandits.

A half hour later I'm sitting at McDonalds, frowning at my too hot coffee when my cell rings. It's him, again.

"Yeah?" I answer.

"Lori?" 

"This is my personal cell phone, so… yeah?" I snapped. I'm never very pleasant in the mornings, and this morning sucks already because of the coffee.

"Oh," he sounds a little taken aback. "So… how's it going?"

I pull the phone away to glare at it for a second before putting it back to answer. "It's fine. Everything is fine."

"Ok, good." He sounds a bit lost but he carries on. "So, you're going to be moving into the apartment next door." He says, then adds, almost hastily, "to Ricky."

"So you say." I answer then bite back a curse as I burn my lip on my coffee.

"And uh… what do you know about him?"

_Oh, dear God._

"Other than that he's to be my neighbor and apparently unqualified to be your bodyguard? Nothing, why?"

"Unqua…" He rasped then laughed. "No reason. Just curious... you know?"

I cannot stress enough how sexy his voice sounds when he laughs. My whole morning is brightened by the sound. "Ok." I say, trying not to sound like I'd give anything to fuck him senseless right about now.

"See you Friday." He promised and hung up.

I'm beginning to wonder if all t.v. stars spend so much time on the phone, chatting up their bodyguards. _Forget it, Lori, down that path lies madness._ I tell myself then dump half a dozen minitubs of creamer into my coffee to help it cool down.

Aaah, coffee... the drink of life. Ambrosia. Manna. JAVA. I feel my muscles starting to unknot as the hot brew begins to circulate through my veins.

I drink two more cups, order a large 'to go' and head back to my house to check on the mover's progress.

"Almost finished, Miss Mavis." Shorty informs me, beaming a gap-toothed smile my way. "We'll be on the road long before noon."

I nod my head, impressed by their efficiency. My postage stamp sized dining room is empty and Julio is walking towards me with a big box marked 'bedroom' in his arms. "So, just the bedroom to go?"

"That's it, ma'am. A few more boxes and then the furnishings."

I look around at my empty house. I've been here since I graduated high school. It was my first home away from my parents. 

A wave of nostalgia washed over me and I sniffed, blinking back tears. Mom and Dad would have been thrilled about my new job... My new prospects… If not for a drunk driver and icy roads. My only consolation is that they both died instantly… probably never even saw it coming.

"Lock up when you leave." I instruct Shorty then gather my purse, cell phone charger and an overnight bag. "See you in New York."

"Safe travels, ma'am." He says and turns back to his task… taking my bed apart.

I don't have any family, or anyone I'd bother calling a friend, but I do have someone I need to see before I leave town. Two someones actually.

The cemetary is neat and tidy, the grass immaculant, the headstones aligned to a perfect grid. I sit down facing the double stone with my parent's names on it. 

"Well, mama, you always said I'd spread my wings and fly away from here one day." I said as though she was sitting beside me. "That day is Friday... I got a new job. I don't know how long it'll last, or what all it entails, but the pay is great. I'll finally be able to finish my degree." A cool breeze ruffles my hair making the shoulder-length brown locks tickle my neck. For a moment I imagine it's my dad ruffling my hair like he used to when I was little.

"Daddy, I always promised you I'd be the one to do it. And now I'll be able to keep that promise." 

I hung my head for a moment before continuing, "I have to go away for a little while though. To New York. I probably wont be here for your birthday next month." A fat tear falls from each eye to run hotly down my cheeks. "Maybe not for Christmas either."

I've never really been away from my mom and dad. Not while they were alive, not since they died. I never imagined it'd be this difficult.

I sat there for a few hours amidst the tombstones, talking to my parents, catching them up on everything that's happened since my Labor Day visit and weeping.

A cheerful bird song reminded me of my mother's laugh when I told them about my first meeting with my new boss. 

A distant rumble of thunder reminded me of my dad's laugh when I got to the part about waking up to no coffee this morning. Dad was like me when it came to coffee. I know he'd sympathize over that… but he'd probably laugh about it, too.

"So, now that you know the whole story, you can see why I have to go." I said as the thunder sounded again, closer this time. "I need this job, I need this money, and I need to get out of the rut I've been stuck in since you guys moved in here."

A bird flew overhead low enough to track it's shadow across the headstone. Directly across my mother's name. "I knew you'd understand." I said then crawled over on my knees to lay my head on the stone and rub their names, the closest I can get to hugging them now. "I love you, and I miss you." I fought for control of my voice. "This isn't good-bye, it's see you later." I whispered then rose and went back to my car. 

The heavens opened up the moment my car door closed with me inside. I imagined it was because my parents were crying with me about having to be separated now. For a long time we sat there and cried together. Then the rain stopped and so did my tears. A gorgeous double rainbow hung in the air over the cemetary. I decided to take that as their approval.

I made my way to the hotel and got the shock of my life at the front desk. "There must be some mistake…" I insisted.

"No, ma'am." The man behind the counter shook his head. "The Presidential Suite was reserved for two nights in the name of Lori Mavis."

"Uh… reserved by…Ben Johnson?" I asked dumbly.

"No, ma'am. The name on the card is John Benson." He said after scanning the page on his monitor.

"John Benson?"

"Yes ma'am."

"That doesn't make any sense." I said more to myself than to the desk clerk. "But, hey, as long as he's paying and I'm not…" I reached for the keycard.

"Enjoy your stay." The clerk said cooly as he handed me the key to the presidential suite.

"I intend to." I assured him and followed a porter, who was carrying my bag like I'm a VIP, to my room.

"Will that be all, Miss?" The porter asked as he handed me back my key after opening the door for me and depositing my bag near the door where I indicated.

"Yes." I smiled at him. "Unless you moonlight as a drinking buddy for hire."

He flashed me a grin and a wink. "That, I would gladly do for free, but I'm on shift until midnight tonight… and forbidden to fraternize with guests… especially VIPs."

"Too bad." I shook my head sadly. 

"Yes, ma'am, it is." He agreed ruefully then left, closing the door behind him.

No, it's REALLY too bad. He was beautiful. Every bit of six foot tall, blond hair, blue eyes, a grin like Han Solo and eyes like Zac Efron… He would have made for a fitting "fairwell" fuck for my Old Kentucky Home. 

Oh, well. I guess Jerry-from-the-Wal-Mart who I picked up a couple of months ago will have to do as my final fuck before leaving home. Sad, really. He was terrible in bed. Mechanical, like a robot. Silent. Insisted on having the lights off… like I wouldn't realize how tiny his dick was if I couldn't see it.

The only interesting thing about Jerry was how he always called Wal-Mart "The Wal-Mart" rather than just "Wal-Mart." 

Ok, to be fair to Jerry, his dick wasn't so tiny that it couldn't have gotten the job done, but when paired with his... uhm… very conservative view of sexual conduct… well, it really wouldn't have gotten the job done even if it had been every man's dream cock. We'll just leave that right there.

I threw Jerry-from-the-Wal-Mart into the rubbish bin in the back of my mind just in time to answer my cell.

"Yeah?"

"Is that how you always answer your phone?"

"Uhh… Yeah?" I closed my eyes, biting my lip anticipating the thrill of hearing him on the other end of the line.

"Hmm." He grunted dismissively. "Alright then." And then he hung up on me!

_What the fuck just happened?_ My brain squealed to a halt.

I pulled up my call log and called back the last number that had called me.

"Yeah?" He said into the phone.

Was that…. Is he…?

"Are you flirting with me?" I blurt out incredulously.

"What? No! Absolutely not!" He said briskly.

"Why did you call me?"

"What? No, you called me."

My voice slipped into prosecutor mode. "Mr. Johnson… You called me one minute ago and asked me if that's how I always answer my phone then hung up on me. I called you back and you answered the phone exactly how I do… what else can I possibly gleen from this behaviour?" 

"I did what, now?" He asked, sounding completely sincere in his desire to know what he'd just done, as if he didn't already know.

"You called my cell phone. About… two minutes ago... asked me if I always answer my phone that way. I said 'yeah' and you said 'Alright then.' And hung up on me." I repeted as if presenting evidence to a jury. "And when I called you back you answered the phone exactly how I do."

"Fuck." He said under his breath, then said to me, "I really don't have time for this right now. I'll call you back in about half an hour."

_Huh?_ That has to be the first time anyone has ever said that or did that to me. And I just plain do not know what to make of it.

Part of me wonders if he has split personality disorder or whatever the latest psuedo-scientific name for it is. Another part of me wonders if he was testing the waters concerning a possible workplace affair. Yet another part wonders if he's just really bored and sadistic enough to drive me insane for his own amusement.

I'm on pins and needles until my phone finally rings 45 minutes later.

"Yeah?" I bark into the phone a little too eagerly.

"Alright." He sighed wearily. "The thing is…" he paused. "Ok, do you remember talking about how your apartment is next door to Ricky's?"

"Uh… Yeah." I say.

"Ricky is my brother, and he's an asshole who just happens to sound a whole lot like me. And he cloned my cell phone for shits n giggles." He said in a rush.

"So… how many times have you talked to me in the past three days?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"Well, on monday I saw you. On Tuesday morning you called me...and then you called me about an hour ago… Why? How many times have you talked to me since Tuesday morning?"

"I spoke to you Tuesday morning, evening and early in the night. I also spoke to you this morning, twice, before I called you back." I said, not sure if I'm more embarrassed or angry.

"I'm so sorry about this." He says, his voice sad and strained at the same time.

"Ok, so… who booked me the Presidential Suite?" I asked though I already suspected the answer.

"The Presidential Suite?" He thundered and I swear I heard his voice laughing in the background. "Did you at least pay for it yourself?" More laughter. "You dick!" He transitioned more quickly back to talking to me than my brain could follow. "I'm so sorry about that."


	3. Chapter 3

Ok, so he has a sound-alike, smart alek for a brother. I guess that's better than multiple personalities. 

I almost feel sorry about the Presidential Suite.

Almost.

Ok, I don't feel at all sorry about the in-suite hot tub or the shower that's big enough for four. 

I have about twenty-four hours to kill before my flight so I dig through my purse and count out my cash. Pathetic… but it'll do.

I spent the morning at the salon getting waxed and buffed and manicured and creamed and sprayed and powdered until I barely resembled myself. 

In the afternoon I had lunch at The Clubhouse then caught a matinee at the cineplex.

For dinner I decided that too much ritz is bad for the soul so I stopped by McDonald's and picked up a twenty-piece nugget. With fries… and an apple pie.

Don't judge me.

It did my soul some good.

I took my Mickey D's and drove out of the city along a well beaten path to a nearby racehorse sanctuary. This is my thinking place. I park off to the side of the road and climb up onto a smoothed out section of flatstone fence. This is where I come when I need to explore my feelings… to find my center.

Don't get me wrong, I'm beyond excited to be living the fantasy… but… at the same time… I'm absolutely terrified to be walking away from everything I've ever known. It's too late now, the die is cast… my belongings are probably being delivered to my new apartment even as I sit here and watch half a dozen retired thoroughbreds munch lazily on the ankle deep emerald carpet of their poignantly picturesque pasture… say that three times fast!

My new apartment. It isn't quite real to me yet. I don't even know where it is except that it's in Manhattan, in Ben Johnson's building, next door to his brother. Ricky.

_Ricky._

_I need to think about what I'm getting myself into._

_I mean, is this guy unhinged or what? Who clones their brother's phone and uses it to mess with their brother's employee, who they don't even know?_

_Don't get me wrong, I got nothing against people with a few screws loose, hell I got a few that could use some tightening myself, but that's the kinda thing you should be upfront about. Especially if it means being neighbors with a man who'd do something like he had._

I thought back to the first time I'd heard his name… 'Not Ricky, you have to hire somebody who's qualified.' Emmy Star had told her husband right before he got the brilliant idea to hire me as their bodyguard to persuade her that a bodyguard is wholey unnecessary in their lives. He hired me to annoy his wife, and he was honest about it. I took the job, knowing full well that I am completely unqualified to guard a donut let alone a celebrity that I've been obsessed with for five years. 

_Is Ricky the price I'm paying for taking the job away from someone who is actually qualified to do it?_

I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing that's the case. It serves me right, I suppose.

I just hope I can learn to deal with Ricky, whatever his real story, quickly enough to avoid anything worse happening because of him. Falsely accusing Ben Johnson of flirting with me -to his face/over the phone- was pretty fucking humiliating. I'll whack the dude upside the head with a frying pan if he tops that one... or at least I'll want to very badly.

I only noticed that the sun had set on my last night at home when I killed my third hungry mosquito. 

"It's not goodbye." I whisper to my happy place. "It's see you later." Then I climbed into my car, drove stoicly back to my hotel, stepped into my illgotten suite and burst into tears. 

I never knew how much I had here until the moment I realized it was already gone, though I can still see it around me. 

That night, for the last time before I flew away, I cried myself to sleep.

Friday dawned bright and hot for mid September. I showed up almost too late for my flight, by design, and avoided any awkward goodbyes with my former coworkers. My flight was smooth and uneventful. 

I headed over to pick up my bag and stumbled over my own feet. He was waiting for me by the baggage claim. My brain seized up.

He must have gotten a hair cut since Monday, his shaggy black mane was far shorter and more tame than I had ever seen it, aside from that, though, he looked exactly the same.

Our eyes met and he smiled broadly as I walked up to him. "See? I told you I'd be here." He looked at me expectantly.

"Is that so?" I want to smack them both. I really do. "I suppose this is what you wanted to talk to me about?" I gesture toward him and rake my hand through the air between us to indicate him from his toes on up.

"You're quick." He grinned.

"And you really are a dick." I said way too sweetly to have him mistake my meaning. "And so is your brother."

"He'd probably be sorry."

"He would be? But you're not?"

"Wait, wait, wait… say that again, please?" He's teasing me, I can see it all over him.

"You're making fun of me." 

"No. Not exactly." He said in a tone that implied otherwise. "Your accent is…" he looked like he was searching the air above my head for the word he wanted.

"Pure hillbilly." I supply and yank my lone bag from the conveyor.

"Charming." He counters, taking the bag from my hand… and getting way too far into my personal space to do so.

"So, given my status as a fan of your brother's work… how did I not know he has an identical twin?" I ask as we walk away from the baggage claim.

"I've been away since before he landed his gig." He shrugged. "And he doesn't talk publically about his homelife."

I knew the second part, so I addressed the first. "Where were you for the past seven years?"

"For the past ten years." He made sure to correct me before answering, "I've been mostly in the middle east... spent a little time here and there all over the place... but I'm home now."

"For how long?"

"For good." He said firmly.

"How long have you been back?" I can't help it, alright, he's fascinating… and not entirely because of his remarkable resemblence to my favorite celebrity crush. I mean, he's just…. Fascinating. That's the only word that fits.

"Three weeks." 

I took another look at him and recognized him for what he was. A military veteran with active duty experience during a time of war. It was stamped into the set of his shoulders, the shifting of his eyes. It radiated from the coiled yet loose-limbed way he held himself. This was a man who'd spent a long time waiting for something horrible to happen. One who had been there when the shit had hit the fan… more than once.

"Welcome home." What else can I say? 

"Thanks... you too."

"Why'd you prank me like that, Ricky?"

"First…" he actually glared at me. "My brother is the only douchebag on planet earth that calls me that... It's Rick… Richard Donovan Benson if you're seriously pissed... Gunny if you're into that sort of shit."

"And second?"

"I wasn't pranking you."

"Then what were you doing?"

"What was it you called it…?" He asked. "Oh, yeah… flirting."

"Why?"

He stopped and frowned down at me. "Why?" He parroted. "Who asks that?"

"I do." I step back so I don't have to crain my neck so hard. "Why flirt with someone you've never even seen, or met? What's the point?"

"Honesty?"

"It's the best policy."

"I wanted to see what you'd do if you thought he was interested in you."

"You wanted to know if I intend to sleep with him."

He looked me square in the eyes and asked without artifice, "Do you?"

"If I did, would I tell you?"

"Under the honesty clause - you have to." He said solemnly though his dark eyes twinkled with mischief.

Two can play this game. "You really want to know the answer to that question?"

"I already know the answer." He said, one black brow hitched upward in a dare. "I want to know if you can be honest."

"Fine." I said, then looked him squarely in the eye. "I had no intentions of anything… but I hadn't ruled out the possibility."

His face zipped through several emotions in the space of a single breath, including suprize, intrigue, and finally landed on intensely interested. "I knew you'd deny any intention, but I'm shocked you'd admit to being open to the possibility."

"Why does that shock you?"

"Because…" he seemed at a loss for words and instead of ellaborating he started toward the exit again.

"Does that bother you?" I was beginning to think it might.

"Should it?"

"Well… he's married… so that's something bothersome." I shrugged. "And he's a celebrity, so if I were to sleep with him I'd be no better than a groupy."

"There is that." He agreed.

"But something tells me that neither of those things is what bothers you about the thought of me sleeping with him."

"Oh?" He said too casually as we walked outside together.

"Nope, what bothers you about it is that you want me to want you and not him."

"Women wanting him works for me." He grinned and leaned down to practically purr in my face, "All the time."

"Ok, then you're willing to settle for any moderately attractive female who would prefer you to him." I shrugged. "I'm relieved it isn't about me."

"You _kicked_ moderately attractive's _ass,_ Miss Mavis." He said, jerking open the passenger door of a hunter green Jaguar - parked in the taxi lane - that would make James Bond jealous.

_Oh, he's good._

"Thanks." I slid into a seat made of the softest leather I've ever felt and struggled to hide a grin as he rounded to the driver's side and climbed in. I've never been handed such a flattering line before. The words were eh, but the casual yet heartfelt way he delivered them… wow. I would imagine that works for him all the time, too.

We pulled away from the curb just as a tow truck was pulling up even with the taxi behind us. 

"So, now you're not going to talk to me?" He asked as we exited the airport lot amidst a few moments of silence.

I contemplated him for a moment. He was obviously wanting my attention. A blind, deaf, mute could clearly understand that much. 

"So, you expect me to wind up in bed with you before long." I clearly stated the obvious answer to the obvious question of 'why?'

"Well, it could go either way, really."

"You flatter yourself, chief."

"Gunny." He reminded me.

"You flatter yourself, Richard Donovan Benson." I said tightly. "I ruled you out as soon as I knew you existed."

"Good, I prefer it when a woman doesn't throw herself at me."

"I couldn't care less what you prefer."

"Fair enough." He shrugged and grinned like it didn't matter a bit.

A moment passed in silence before he glanced over at me and said, "I like your accent."

"I don't care."

"I like the way you say my name."

"I _really_ don't care."

"You're sexy as hell."

"You're wasting your time."

"What are you? Five foot nothing?"

"No."

"4'11? 5'1? You're close to Five - naught."

"My height is none of your business."

"What, is it a secret?" He scoffed. "Just tell me."

"How would you like it if I insisted on you giving me your measurements?"

"I'm six -three. No big deal, see?" He shrugged.

"So you're half an inch taller than Ben?"

"Yep. Have been since we were 14."

I made a noncommital sound and turned to look out the window.

"You know, he goes by 'John' at home."

"John Benson."

"Yeah... the first season director was a dick who refused to call him anything but Ben Johnson. Even had John's name put wrong in the credits… after that it was too late to do anything about it."

"You two are close, I take it."

"Always have been."

"I could tell by the fact that you're not sporting a black eye over the hotel incedent."

He laughed and I swear to you everything beneath my skin turned to jelly. "Payback is a bitch." He said triumphantly.

"Payback? For what?"

"How tall are you?"

_Grrr._

"Why are you so obsessed with my height?"

"Why are you so touchy about it?"

"I'm not."

"Ha!"

"I'm not." I insisted. I'm really not. 

"Then why not tell me?"

"After what you did? Be glad I'm speaking to you at all."

"I am... very _glaaad yer speeekin' ta may._ "

 _Hmm,_ I am pretty sure that was meant to be charming. I can't help but find it annoying. Very annoying. _Screw you, asshole._ I think to myself but hold onto my temper by biting my tongue.

"Ok, you stopped talking again." He glanced my way and switched lanes way too quickly for my comfort.

Traffic is slowing down but he isn't, he's weaving through it as if the Jaguar were a real cat weaving between it's owners feet instead of a ton of metal traveling twice the speed of the tons of metal all around it. 

"Hit another sore spot, huh?"

"Jesus, pay attention to what you're doing." I snapped, catching him looking at me instead of the road ahead.

Several moments passed and he guided us out of traffic before unexpectedly saying, "I'm sorry." He glanced ahead then back toward me. "For upsetting you."

"Yes," I said as we drove down a street that was straight out of some snooty rich-people magazine. "You really are..." he turned into an alley and then sharply into a private driveway. "Quite sorry." The car stopped and I jumped out of it like it was on fire.

I was hoping to leave it there but of course, I don't have it like that. I glanced around, lost. We were obviously in a private drive behind a monsterously huge brick building that looked like an 18th century palace. That was plain to see... but where the hell am I supposed to go from here? Reluctantly I turned to face my irritating companion.

He rolled his eyes at me as he hoisted the shoulder strap on my bag into place on his shoulder. "Come on, they want to see you as soon as you're ready to be seen."

"Now is fine. It was a short trip."

"Alright then." He unlocked the security door which let us into an emergency exit type of stairwell. "We're on the second floor, the third and fourth floors are the royal couple's private suite.… it's past lunch so… they're probably on the fourth." He explained as I trudged up the steps behind him. 

I couldn't help but notice that for a space with no windows this stairwell afforded me a hell of a view.

"Has my stuff made it here yet?" I ask as we reach the third floor.

"Yeah, it's all inside your place. Brutus and I made sure the boxes all made it into the right rooms... I don't know what's in the box with Julio's phone number on it, but Brutus was in love with it."

"There is a box with Julio's number on it in my apartment?"

"Yep. It's a 'bedroom' box." He said as if he feared he would be overheard saying something naughty. "I think he likes you."

A box of my bedroom stuff that Julio put his name and number on? I wonder what it could possibly be?

Rick unlocks the fourth floor door and we head inside, into a very expensively furnished sitting room.

Ben Johnson, AKA John Benson, and his lovely wife rise to greet us as we enter and I step forward to shake my new boss's hand just as it struck me. Out of the blue I realized what was in the box with Julio's name and number on it. I tripped over my own foot and slammed into Ben Johnson's chest like a wrecking ball. For several moments we tussled with each other, both akwardly trying to disentangle ourselves from the other.

"I am so sorry!" I gasp as I find my solid footing and pull back a step. I peeked up and let out a sigh of relief… at least he wasn't bleeding this time.

"Well, that's…uhh.." Ben pulled himself together and stopped stammering. "It's ok, trips happen."

"Your beast howled the whole time you were gone. Alejandro could barely concentrate on his work."

"What's he designing for you today? An awards show dress? A new bikini?" Rick snorted derisively. "I'd hardly call what he does 'work.'"

"Miss Mavis's uniform. It'll be a feminine version of our soon to be standard security uniform." She said witheringly with much puffed up importance. 

"Uh? Ma'am?" I'm flabbergasted. Who the fuck hires an actual fashion designer to design a security guard's uniform? I'm going to blow a gasket if it has so much as a single sequin or feather on it. "I'm sure New York has some very fine uniform shops that will gladly…"

Emmy Star cut me off imperiously, "Pffa! There is no possible way I'm going to be seen in public with an employee of mine who's wearing some cheap polyester rag." 

Her eyes shot down to my chest then did a double take before giving me a thorough twice over. "You don't look as fat in that. I'm going to have to have Alejandro take in the outfit he's already worked so hard on... What size are you? 14? 16?"

_Sheesh! How big is he making this uniform?_

"I'm a ten." I say a lot more stiffly than I intended to. 

"I concur." Rick whispered loudly enough for the neighbor's to hear.

I shot him my best 'drop dead' look and had to swallow a growl when the asshole had the temerity to wink at me.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to have him come and measure you for the uniform." Her overt cattiness was almost strong enough to make me sneeze. 

"If you like." I say as graciously as possible.

"In any event, I don't want to ever see you in that disaster again." She indicated toward my white tank top. "Those things are so tacky."

I glance down at my top. Other than the fact that it's clingy enough to flatter my waistline there is nothing remarkable about the shirt. What a diva she is. "Yes, ma'am."

Rick leaned over to nudge his twin and asked in another loud whisper. "Does she mean the tanktop or the "C" cups?" 

"Damn it, Ben, would you put a muzzle on your pet?!" Emmy snarled so suddenly I jumped halfway out of my skin.

A look passed between the brothers and Rick gave a little sigh then walked off grumbling under his breath.

 _What an odd experience this has been so far._ I think to myself as Emmy pulls out a feathery pink cellphone and pushes a single button before pressing it to her ear. 

A moment later she starts yammering frantically into the phone about a disaster, how it's an emergency and she needs "My Alejandro" here right away, that it's "life and death."

After she ends the call she looks at me and as deadpanned as a corpse says, "Voice mail."

I almost burst out laughing in her face. I can't help it, I have a stupid sense of humor… and she just triggered it. It's all I can do not to choke on the giggles as I hold them back. 

Ben/John must have noticed how close I was to losing it because he cut in as soon as she went to speak to me again. "You should go see your new apartment, maybe freshen up from your trip before Alejandro gets here."

Emmy bit back whatever she'd been about to say and switched geers so fast I'm shocked her head didn't spin. "That's a good idea. Go freshen up and change into something Alejandro can measure you accurately in."

I wondered briefly if she'd have a brain aneurism if I came back butt naked... knowing my luck she'd have me arrested.

I found Rick in the stairwell, pouting. "Done already?" He asked, standing up quickly from his seat on the top step.

"Yeah, apparently I stink." I half giggle.

He frowned at me and leaned in to sniff my hair. "Nope, what makes you think that?"

"They both told me to go 'freshen up'." I couldn't help it, I started laughing. 

"Nah, they just want to fight about you some more." He said and started down the steps, still carrying my bag.

That sobered me up. "They've been fighting about me?"

"She won the uniform fight, he won the 'no guns' debate." 

"Ah, I see." I really don't… but he doesn't need to know that.

"You will eventually." He said, a study in uncaring nonchallance.

He unlocked my door then took the key off of his keyring and handed it to me. "If you need anything, I'm right across the hall." He said and hitched a thumb towards the only other door on the small landing.

"I need my bag." I remind him as he crossed over to unlock his own door.

"Right." He grins sheepishly and hands over my luggage.

"Thanks." It's hard to hold a grudge against the guy.

He's definitely an asshole but I can recognise that he's a charming one despite my desire to despise him. I mean, come on, he's blushing for crying out loud! I can't even remember the last time I saw a grown man blush. I'm pretty sure that if his brother blushed at me like that I'd lose my mind… it's… cute as hell in the sexiest possible way. Or is it sexy as hell in the cutest possible way? Maybe both.

"By the way," I called from just inside my doorway as he started into his apartment, "They're 'D's not 'C's." And slammed my door and locked it. 

I only caught a glimpse of his face but I'll never forget the expression my words put on it. He was absolutely floored. 

Inside I started to giggle, then to laugh, and wound up with mirthful tears streaming down my face. 

All I can really say in my own defense is 'The devil made me do it.' 

Honesty... I have no idea why the fuck I just said that. It's like the ghost of a dead hooker took over my body and discharged a bolt of hypercharged sexual energy, like a lightening strike, straight from my mouth.

I excuse myself, citing that it's a heady sensation to know beyond all doubt that a guy you find sexy -definitely- wants to fuck you. 

I mean come on… he looks exactly like Ben Johnson for christ's sake... does it matter if I think he's an immature fuckwad with some fucked up views on male/female relations? Does it matter that if he looked like anyone else, or in any way differently than he does that I would have forgotten his name by now? How can those things hope to matter when he looks completely I-Fucking-dentical to Ben Fucking Johnson? 

_**Taking this job was a mistake!**_ My brain screamed.

I hate it when my brain finally catches up to my fuck ups.

_How in the hell am I going to be able to be around Ben Johnson when I'm so hot for him I'm about two words away from fucking a guy I don't even like just because he looks like him?_

_Fuck._

_Shit._

_God damn it!_

_I hate my life._

"Excuse me?" 

Holy shit! I jumped so hard that I spun around in mid air. "What the FUCK dude?"

_I locked that door. I know I locked that door._

He jingled his keys at me. "I couldn't help noticing that you were flirting with me just now."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I stomped up to him and started shoving. Damn it, I couldn't make him budge, he's a frickin mountain. "Get out!"

"Don't you want the key I just used?"

"Give it here!" I demanded.

"Sure, no problem." He said, removing the key from his ring and handing it to me. "I have several... all of the locks in this stairwell use the same key."

"Not for long!" I promised and flung the key back at him.

"You are really sexy when you're pissed." He said as if making a casual observation. "I forgot to mention… I peeked into the box with Julio's number on it."

The earth stopped on it's axis so quickly that I nearly fell over... Or maybe that's just how it felt when his words hit me.

"I marked his out and put mine on there." He was giving me a look hot enough to light a fish on fire. "I hope you don't mind."

Mind? Why would a little thing like leaving your phone number on a box full of my _sex toys_ be something I would mind? 

He is still staring me down like he's starving and I'm a buffet while my brain crashes and struggles to reboot.

Do I mind that he peeked into my stuff? When he looks like he does?

Do I mind that what he peeked into is extremely, embarrassingly, personal stuff? When he's looking at me like that?

Do I mind that he scratched out another man's info and replaced it with his own like a dog pissing over a rival's smell to mark his territory? When he's flat out promising me a whole lot of hot, sweaty, screaming orgasms with his eyes?

_Yes, I fucking mind._

"I mind very much." I grind out through my teeth. "Get the fuck out of my apartment."

 _I do have a box of sex toys, after all, I don't need him to get my freak on..._ though I'm sure I'll think about that blazing hot stare he just stopped giving me while I do so. 

"Get out!" I yell and shove him again. This time he budges… all the way out the door.

_I'll just pretend it was Ben looking at me like that._

I locked the door and fetched one of my two dining room chairs to prop it shut.

"So far- this job sucks!" I complain to my echo-y new apartment.


End file.
